Can I Live?

Disclaimer: This is not a racial post. I'm just sick of people expecting me to fake the funk. 

Can I live. Three simple words. Thank you Reasonable Doubt. Thank you Jay-Z. 

I'm going to be 100% honest with you, black woman are fighters. We have to fight white men, white woman, black men, black women, society, stereotypes, jeans that aren't made for actual butts, we have to fight everyday. Sometimes I feel like I have to put on a mask, a higher voice, sound cheerful, always act perky, use bigger words, not pop my gum, and refrain my all those neck motions I've grown accustomed to... all in the name of proving myself and if I'm not perky now I have an attitude. Being a woman who happens to be black isn't enough. We can't be humble, we have to boast our achievements otherwise we don't get the respect we already deserved. Let's not even talk about the hypersexualism associated with having a fat ass, large boobs, and full lips. Not today.

There are 5 things that  erk my last nerve and make me want to say
 "Can I Live?"

1. Can you twerk? 

NO...I can't. Actually, I can. I twerk quite nicely. But guess what? I wasn't born with the innate ability throw that ass in a circle. In fact I had to teach myself. Many nights at home all alone (technically with Ocho my dog, but whatever) I turned on Migos, Future, Drake, and Chris Brown until I learned how to control my gluteus minimus, gluteus medias, and gluteus maximus. Stop asking if you don't actually have any real intention of learning to twerk for meaningful purposes. And stop assuming because I am a black woman that I can. If you want to dance by all means dance how ever you want I don't care, but stop asking me with music or without if I can teach you. Google it.

2. What do you do to your hair? 

When it's curly: I washed it
When it's pressed: I flat ironed it
When I've got braids/twists: I got it braided (awaits the weave question)
When it's in a bun: I just wrapped it in a bun

Literally, I did nothing special. Now, honestly if you ask a genuine question I'll answer it. But when you look and treat me like I'm an object and not a person it really makes me feel like I've been completely dehumanized.

I don't ask to touch your hair just because it's different than mine. Show me the same respect.

3. Heyyyy Sista! 

I'm not your sister. If you don't say that to every woman that you're friends with don't save the 'sista talk' just for me. I deeply value sisterhood and girl gangs, so unless you're benefitting society with our sisterhood and making the communities we live in a better place, save the sista slang.

4. Stop being so surprised when I tell you my major in college, the high school I graduated from, or that I played soccer. 

I'm not well spoken, I speak like you. I speak normal. We speak the same. That's it.
::I'm going to leave this right here::

5. No your hair isn't nappy and neither is mine. 

The reason why your hair isn't nappy is because for hundreds of years your hair lacked any ounce of kink, it never curled into something that took just a little extra work to comb out, nor were you persecuted and made fun of because of it's texture. This is for the women (including myself) who were scrutinized for years of their lives for having what was considered nappy hair and made to feel less than special because our hair wasn't straight. This is why you can't call your un-kinked hair nappy.

Hair update: (2017) Those nappy, fuzzy, fly away, fuzzy edges are now flourishing edges that are laid hunty. We call them baby hairs.

Stay hungry my friends...

Young Ray